The BlackListed One
by Ramzes
Summary: Molly Weasley is a good maternal woman who defines the world according to her principles. Unfortunately, sometimes reality is too complicated for such simple truths and beliefs.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I am just a visitor in JKR's world._

**I don't know where this idea came from. I just remembered the conversation Sirius had with Harry, Ron, and Hermione in Goblet of Fire, about how frantic things were during the first war, how many the Death Eaters were, and under what terror people lived. And I suddenly decided to give one of my most beloved characters her fair share of doubt and anguish.**

The Black-Listed One

_April 1977…_

Could she do it? _Should_ she do it?

Molly Weasley shivered, suddenly cold in the nice April day. The hand holding the sheet of parchment shook and she tossed it on the table. No, this was madness. These days, people saw Death Eaters everywhere. The Ministry was literally buried under reports about suspected dark wizards, many of them just due to hysterical fear. Was Molly hysterical? The man never did anything to her. Merlin, she barely knew him! Fabian always spoke highly of him. His sister was one of the most promising young Aurors, according to both Fabian and Gideon. That hardly spelled _a_ _Death Eater_, right?

And yet, she could not shake off the feeling that not everything with Philippe Saint Claire was as innocent as she tried to convince herself.

It had started two days ago, in a nice warm evening…

* * *

_Two days ago…_

Fabian was the only person who was able to throw party in the middle of a war. Or at least, the only one Molly knew.

She could hear the music and the voices on the other side of the front door. No wonder that no one had heard her knock – they were so loud. She really should have Firecalled beforehand, instead of Apparating without warning. But how could she have anticipated the uproar that would greet her? Then again, it _was_ Fabian. Of course she should have. Instead of living as quiet life as possible, as all sensible people did, Fabian and Gideon just had to have it the most inappropriate, obnoxious, loud way as possible. They had to.

The din became louder, there was an explosion of laughter, followed by a storm of applause. Molly was just on the way of Apparating back home and contacting Fabian the next day, when the front door suddenly opened and Gideon peeked at her.

"Hi, Molly. Come on, come on!"

Before she could say something, he had grabbed her by the hand and led her to Fabian's living room. Now, it was all quiet, except for the person who was playing the guitar inside. Molly could not help but notice that he was quite skilled.

Furniture was quite lacking in Fabian's home, but the guests had solved the problem by magicking armchairs and sofas for themselves and they were making good use of them, lounging and sprawling, as if they were home. On the central sofa Fabian was talking to his girlfriend, Dorcas Meadows. Near the empty fireplace sat Gideon's best friend Caradoc Dearborn an the twins' fellow Auror Sylvie Lupin. Her husband Raymond was listening to something that Caradoc's girlfriend, Maura Lewis, was saying animatedly.

"Hey, Fabe, look who I brought!" Gideon announced.

Fabian stood up. "Hello, Molly," he said, surprised. "Is something the matter?"

She shook her head. She had wanted to discuss their mother's forthcoming birthday with them, but it would have to wait. "No, no, all is okay."

He visibly relaxed. "Welcome, then."

Everyone greeted her. She smiled and greeted them back.

Leading her through the room, Gideon said, "The only one you don't know is the one who's been playing the guitar so masterfully. That's Sylvie's brother. Fabian's friend from Paris. His name is Philippe Saint Claire."

Philippe stood up for the introduction. "Molly, this is Philippe," Gideon said. "Philippe, meet my sister, Molly Weasley."

"Hello, Molly," Philippe said and held out his hand.

"Good evening, Philippe," she answered, looking at his face. She knew that he and Sylvie Lupin were not only siblings, but twins, but she would have never guessed it. They looked nothing alike. Sylvie was small and red-haired, not unlike Molly herself, but her most distinguishing feature was the air of vitality around her. She was short, but strong and athletic. Vibrant. Philippe was much taller than her, lanky and somewhat languid. His dark face and even his black hair looked almost washed-out, although he was not unattractive. He looked older than his sister. And then, shocked, Molly noticed his hand. His fingers were visibly deformed, his knuckles red and bloated, as if full of water, the skin around them yellowish.

She recoiled in horror. A moment later, she took hold of herself and shook the hand that Philippe had started to withdraw. His face was devoid of any expression. He did not even look insulted, but he had undeniably seen her reaction. Molly quickly scanned the rest of the group. No one seemed to have noticed her impulsive gesture – no one but Sylvie. Molly had no doubt what the Frenchwoman's eyes conveyed: hatred, bitter and helpless hatred.

"Until now, I've been playing the guests' favourite songs," Philippe said, interrupting the silence. "Molly, do you have a favourite song?"

"I think not," she said – she felt so embarrassed that she couldn't think clearly. The realization how she had humiliated him made her numb and that only made things worse. She knew it but she was helpless.

"So you won't order a song?" Philippe asked.

She shook her head.

Smiling slightly, he sat back on the sofa.

"If no one else has any wishes, Philippe, would you play my other favourite song, "Fire Magic'?" Maura asked.

"All right," he said, smiling. "But only if you sing along, Maura!"

"You have it!" Maura cried. "We're all singing, right?"

"Of course," Caradoc agreed, Philippe started playing the chorus and they all sang.

A few minutes later, the deliverance guy knocked on the door bringing their dinner. Of course, Fabian couldn't cook for his guests and of course, he'd rather order food from outside than asking his mother or even Molly for help. Molly did not approve of such… err, modern hosting, but her brothers had adopted it from their friends and seemed content enough with it. And it _was_ tasty.

"Hey," Fabian asked, "how did you find the time to come here alone? Where are the boys?"

Molly smiled. "They are with Arthur," she said. "Truly, I needed a little rest. I mean, they are all darlings, but – "

"But they are stillboys," Dorcas said, laughing. "How many of them are there, ah Molly? I'm afraid I lost count."

"Three," Molly said. "Three boys. I hope the next one is a girl, but I don't dare assume anything."

"Good thing that you don't," Raymond Lupin assured her. "It's safer this way. I, for myself, was pretty sure that this time, I'd have a girl. Instead, I got a girl _and_ a boy. I don't know why I was so surprised."

"I don't know either," his brother in-law dead-panned. "I mean, Sylvie really should have warned you. In our family, there are as many twins as single births. All thanks to my Grandmother. She introduced it to the family."

Raymond grinned. "I've always liked your Grandmother. In her prime, she must have been a stunner. Anyway, it's a double care with twins."

"We should be eternally grateful to your mother," Sylvie agreed. "Without my mother in-law, I'm lost," she explained to the others.

_The sad thing is that it's true_, Molly thought. The woman made it sound like a joke, but the truth was that she had foisted her children on her in-laws, so she could go back to work. To be a glorious Auror. And not so glorious a mother. Molly had been terrified to learn, three months ago, that Sylvie had left her six-week-old twins to her mother in-law and gone back to office. The threat of this creature, this You-Know-Who, could not excuse such a choice. For every mother, the real battle was to take care of her kids. Or it should be. Lack of money couldn't be a reason either. The Weasley family did not have much either, but Molly wouldn't leave her children in order to earn money and buy them playthings. No, she could find no excuse for Sylvie Lupin.

"You should be careful," Dorcas said over her glass of Firewhiskey, face suddenly become serious. "All of you. Sylvie and Philippe, and you two. You know that the Death Eaters take a special interest in twins."

"Interest?" Molly repeated. She did not understand. "What interest?"

"Examinations," Gideon said. "How we work, how our bodies function and react to this and that."

Now she understood and wished that she had not. _Tortures, he means. Experiments. When is it going to end? Oh Merlin, when?_

"I hear that they had won the werewolves on their side," Caradoc said gravely. The jovial mood had melted down, but that was a common thing these days. Beneath the laughter, beneath every conversation lay the fear. The terrible danger.

"I heard that, too, and I think it's true." Raymond's face had gone pale. There was something strange in his voice, something that made Molly look at him sharply. "After all, we had it coming long ago, didn't we?"

The implication in his words hit home. Everyone looked at him, stunned. No, not everyone. Sylvie and Philippe did not look surprised in the least.

"Are you saying that _we_ are the ones to blame for these – these creatures' betrayal?" Maura finally asked.

"That's exactly what I'msaying."

A long silence followed and Molly suddenly understood what had made the authorities remove Raymond from his post at St. Mungo's. He had treated a Death Eater and now he expressed such outrageous opinions – no wonder that people did not want him there.

"Come on," Raymond went on, "name one thing that we gave them to be loyal to. Maura? Fabe? Come on, I'm sure you can think of something. Or should I help you? Resentment. Avoidance. Fear. Humiliation. All these good reasons for them to love us. Did I miss something?"

"You're making it sound so simple," Gideon said.

"It _is_ this simple. We've been arrogant and snobbish for too long and now we're paying the price of our self-righteousness."

"Self-righteousness!" Molly could not refrain any longer. "I don't want someone around my children who can _eat_ them! Is that self-righteousness?"

"I think that the fear imparted in you prevents you from being just."

Dorcas stared in her glass. She stared at it for so long that Molly wondered what she might be seeing there.

"Raymond does have a point," she finally said. "I cannot deny that. But – "

"But what?" Philippe's face was still smooth, but there was an angry fire in his dark eyes. Suddenly, he no longer looked washed-out. He seemed to be possessed of some strange energy – suppressive energy. _Dark_ energy. "That's what you people do. And you do not even realize it." He raised a hand to stifle the uproar that followed his statement. "Do not protest. It is as I say. You reject others without realizing it. Maybe not you here. But people like you."

"If you mean purebloods," Dorcas started angrily, "let me tell you something, Mr _I Know Best._ I am a Muggleborn myself and – "

"I don't mean Muggleborns," he interjected. "I mean healthy, _normal_ people. All of you know about my disease? I should think so. After all, it's quite obvious."

_Yes_, Molly thought. She remembered having read in the newspapers that the pureblooded French family, famous for producing dueling champions, had been infected with some sort of strange disease – a bleeding that would not stop. She had not realized that Philippe had it. Maybe that was the explanation for his deformed hands? But his sister certainly didn't suffer any such thing – Molly had seen her suffer some injuries and she had always stopped bleeding pretty fast.

A new silence filled the room. "About that, Philippe," Maura finally said, "I only know that with your broken hands, you make more music than I, or any of us, with hands that are whole."

He nodded in acknowledgement.

"And yet, wizards and witches hate me and avoid me, for I am different than them and they fear me for that. I constantly remind them that none of them are nearly as perfect as they like to think they are, that we have vulnerabilities, too, just like Muggles, that there are some diseases that magic cannot heal – and that scares the hell out of them." For a moment, he held Sylvie's eyes and it was like they were back to Beauxbatons, where they had learned at first-hand how enormous human capacity for cruelty could be. Then, he slowly smiled. It was not a happy smile. "But my family loves me and protects me and they are quite influential. That's why I am tolerated. Not liked, but tolerated anyway. Not everyone who has problems is this lucky. And it's easy to win people who had been treated poorly. The lure of tolerance, of acceptance and – retribution is too great. For myself, I cannot say whether I would have resisted the temptation if I were not Philippe Saint Claire."

"But you are Philippe Saint Claire," Fabian said.

"That's right. Let's talk no more about that."

"Let's talk no more."

Again, this silence. Heavy. Full of tension. Now Molly wished that she had not come at all.

* * *

She had taken the quill and now held it over the parchment. It was still blank. She had not written anything. Really, what _could_ she write? For what reason should she send the Aurors after him? Because she had seen him scolding his sister's six-year-old son quite harshly in Diagon-Alley yesterday? Or because he claimed that poor treatment led to poor results? Or because he felt not accepted but merely tolerated because of an affliction that was completely out of his control? But the next moment Philippe Saint Claire looked dangerous to her, because he was trying to find excuse for people who had chosen the wrong side. The murdering side. The people who put everyone at risk. Her family. Her children. Molly had seen so many people – ones she had thought she knew – make the wrong choice, placing themselves above things like humanity and sympathy. She did not know what to make out of this one. She just felt within herself that he was a dark and dangerous man. Embittered. Maybe too embittered. Then again, wasn't it true that he had some good reasons to feel this way? The memory of her own behavior, how she had recoiled from his handshake, disgusted to take his disfigured hand, make her sick. She had always tried to be just and fair, but in this case, who could say what was just, what was right? What was a real threat and what was a rightful anger? What was justice and what –

* * *

**So, will Molly write a report claiming that she suspects Philippe to be a Death Eater? Do you want to know?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. The more is the pity…**

_February 1990__…_

Chapter 2

Molly missed her children, she really missed them, but she had to admit that five of them being at Hogwarts provided her with something that she had almost forgotten existed – a little free time. And since their financial status was slightly better than usual, she decided that after having finished her shopping earlier than expected, she could afford to have a coffee at one of these little cozy places at Diagon Alley that were just as popular in the winter as Florian Fortescue's was in the summer.

What she hadn't expected was the woman she saw in one corner. "Emma!" she exclaimed and hurriedly went to her former classmate, momentarily forgetting that she no more wanted to socialize with women like her.

Emma Saint Claire, nee Potter, looked up from the newspaper she had been reading and her face was lit by an immediate smile. "Hi, Molly," she said. "You want to have a coffee?"

"Gladly."

While Molly was sitting down, she caught sight of Emma's extended stomach and suddenly remembered why she had stopped liking and respecting her one time best friend. But it was too late to step back now. Besides, the idea of a baby could always melt her down.

Emma recognized Molly's look and took it for what it meant. "Yes," she said, smiling with irony that was soon revealed as being addressed not at Molly, but Emma herself, "here I am, thirty five-year-old and finally with a second child on its way." But she did not say it angrily. Probably, she was used to worse. Not that she did not deserve such an attitude, of course.

"What are you having?" Molly asked and Emma made a face.

"I'll tell you if you don't laugh at me."

"I won't."

"I'll kill you if you laugh."

"I won't, I promise."

"Chocolate with whipped cream," Emma informed her and true to her word, Molly did not laugh. Instead, she opted for the same drink out of loyalty. Besides, she liked chocolate with whipped cream. Emma was the only person she knew who hated chocolate, but strange things were known to happen to pregnant women.

"What are you doing here?" Molly asked. "I didn't know you were back in England."

"I am not. Philip had to come on business here and I decided to accompany him. I almost wish I hadn't," she added under her breath.

Molly did not comment. It was a well known and discussed fact that Emma's parents had been less than thrilled when she had left her husband for her lover years ago. Molly could not approve such a thing either and she had been shocked to hear about her friend's affair, but as much as she condemned it, she could not help but be a little curious. David West was a strong and handsome man, while Philippe was so ill. Where was the attraction? Why had Emma chosen the Frenchman? Yet, ten years later and already married to him, she looked happy and content. Molly could not understand how her friend's mind worked any more, but it was obvious that Emma was not sorry. At all. For a moment, Molly asked herself what would have happened if all those years ago she had followed her suspicions and had reported Philippe to be a Death Eater. She could only be grateful that her good sense had prevailed, since the man _hadn't_ been one. Only now could she realize how mistrustful the war had made all of them. If it had lasted longer, they would have surely lost themselves in the grip of paranoia.

For a moment the two women were silent, watching the passers-by who hurried in the snowy street. When Molly's chocolate arrived, Emma started asking her questions about her family and their former classmates. Suddenly, Molly felt a little sad. Emma had obviously been snubbed by her friends, judged by everyone. No matter how awful her deed had been, it was still awful to be rejected by the people you'd grown up with. Emma even did not look like a lusty adulteress – she looked just like an ordinary pregnant woman.

"Are you happy?" Molly asked.

"Yes," Emma answered without hesitation. "Yes, I am."

Molly hesitated before asking the next question. "And how are things with Raymond?"

She felt awkward asking this, but at the time, everyone at Hogwarts had known that Emma and Raymond were an item. Their friends, Molly included, knew how hard it had been for the two of them when Emma's parents had pressured her to break it off with him.

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Oh not this again!" She sounded bored. "For Merlin's sake, Molly, it was just a school crush! If my parents hadn't stamped their foot so suddenly, it would have probably faded on its own. But since they did it, we accepted it as a great tragedy. Raymond was happy in his marriage; I was not in mine, so I obsessed over him and what could have been. Now we're both happy with other people who just happen to be siblings. Are we supposed to avoid each other forever because of a crush gone awry twenty years ago?"

She sounded so reasonable that Molly felt stupid for ever thinking otherwise. But well, the gossiping magazines had had their field day with the whole story and people had read it hungrily because it was a distraction from the reality of the raging war. Could they be blamed for making their minds from what they had read?

Suddenly, she stood up. "I'll Firecall Helen," she said. "She'll be thrilled to join us." Helen was another classmate and friend of theirs who lived in the same village as Molly.

Emma shook her head. "There is no need – "

"Enough of this nonsense," Molly said firmly, suddenly wanting to atone for cutting Emma off all those years ago. What had gotten into her? Why had she accepted that her friend had suddenly turned into an awful person? Yes, what she had done was wrong, but was it so unforgivable? And really, was it for Molly to forgive? She hadn't been the one abandoned, that had been David. Why shouldn't the three of them – Molly, Emma and Helen – spend a nice afternoon together?

Oh but – "Err, maybe we'd better make an appointment for another day," she said.

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Maybe we shouldn't make one at all," she suggested dryly.

"No!" Molly exclaimed, terrified that she'd been misunderstood. Emma thought that Helen would not want to see her. "I mean only that – Helen has a small child and she is probably not free right now – "

"Tell her bring the child along," Emma suggested, "I'd love to see both of them. Is it a boy or a girl?"

Molly asked the waitress to let her make a Firecall and came back with the news that Helen had agreed gladly. For a few minutes, the two of them fell silent, thinking about the past. Some women on the table next to them were holding a joyous conversation, but Emma barely heard them – she was consumed by memories of the time when she and Helen had gone to one Healer after another, trying to find a treatment that would let them bear a child. Emma was always told that she had no fertility problem; Helen was told that no matter what she did, she would never be able to give birth. Having finally become a mother, Emma could only be glad for Helen who had found a way to have a child, although it was not the same as Emma's.

Helen and her daughter arrived in a few minutes. Emma immediately noticed the lack of any physical resemblance between the two of them – Helen was a dark-haired witch with round face, while Bliss was silvery-blond and blue-eyed. Her face was finely chiseled, her complexion very fair and she looked like a kitten that everyone would like to pet. "Are you Mummy's friend?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," Emma nodded.

"Then why haven't I seen you before?"

Emma did not answer. Instead, she smiled at her and asked, "How old are you?"

Helen gave her a sharp glance, but Emma pretended not to notice. Helen knew that Emma knew, of course. Maybe Molly also knew. The child was so different from her parents that only a blind man would not notice. Helen was afraid that Emma might drop a hint, that she might say something that would upset Bliss. Emma smiled at her soothingly, while the girl answered, "My birthday is on April 14. I'll be eight-year-old."

"That's very nice," Emma said and stroked her hair. Bliss yelped.

"I'm sorry," Emma apologized, releasing the silvery lock that had entangled between her fingers. Her mind was reeling, frantically calculating the dates and cringing back terrified at the complications that would inevitably arise.

_Five days later…_

"Mum, why are these people watching us?"

Molly sighed, irritated. "No one is watching, Ginny, say what you want and let's go."

"But, Mum, they are – "

"Shut up and go!" Molly snapped. She was already sorry that she had agreed to take Ginny and Bliss with her while shopping. They had insisted on going everywhere! She was tired and she wanted to go home, so she didn't notice Emma and the elderly man who was watching Bliss very intently. Emma gave him a questioning look. He slowly nodded.

_March 1990…_

Helen was weeping.

Molly could make little sense of her friend's muffled sobs, but what she understood was enough to make her hair stand on end. Helen was telling of being suddenly summoned to the Wizengamot, of being accused of falsifying Bliss' birth certificate, of being told that several studies had been done – one in Britain, another in France, and a third one in the United States – that conclusively showed that Bliss' genes matched those of Dominic Montresorre, a former dueling champion, and his Veela wife, that they claimed that she was their grandchild, a daughter of their own daughter, and that they insisted on taking her with them.

"They say that she isn't human," Helen wept. "They say that we have _abducted_ her!"

Molly handed her a tissue, then made her a cup of tea. Helen started drinking, but choked with her sobs and had to stop.

"Is that why gold hurts her?" a girl's voice asked from the door. "Is that why it burns her skin? Because she is a Veela?"

Helen wept harder. Molly impatiently waved Ginny off and silently mouthed, 'Out', which Ginny did, although quite grudgingly.

"But how is it possible?" Molly asked when her friend had calmed down a little. "Why did they do it all of a sudden?"

Helen laughed bitterly. "Emma betrayed me," she said.

"What?!"

"She did," Helen insisted. "She knew that I couldn't have children of my own. It seems that she's related to this family. They are her husband's cousins or something, so when she saw Bliss, she noticed a resemblance between her and Christine Lasall, the woman they allege is Bliss' mother. Do you remember how Bliss yelped when Emma tore at her hair? It wasn't an accident, she intentionally plucked a few hairs that she presented for the tests."

Molly could not believe that Emma would do such a thing. She had fought infertility for so long – would she do such a thing to a friend?

"But what exactly do they claim?" Molly asked and waved Arthur off the kitchen when he tried to enter after coming back from work. "How do they say Bliss ended up with you and Paul?"

Helen sipped cautiously at her tea and when she saw that she wouldn't choke again, started sipping nervously. "They say that her real parents were abducted by the Death Eaters. That her mother gave birth in captivity. That the baby was taken from her and her husband was killed the very same day." She laughed hysterically. "Molly, this is supposed to have happened in April 1982. By then, You-Know-Who had long ago been defeated! There _weren't _any Death Eaters roaming free!"

"Yes," Molly agreed. It was ridiculous. Helen and Paul being involved in the kidnapping of a newborn? Please! "What are you going to do?"

Helen looked at her. "What can we do? They want us to make tests to prove that we are Bliss' natural parents. We either make the tests and it comes out that we and her don't match, or refuse, which this shitty judges will accept as an admission of guilt. Either way, she goes with those people she had never seen in her life. She will be handed over to the parents of a mother who doesn't care enough to come here and claim her personally. The woman who left her in the street!"

Molly hugged her and tried to soothe her – and banish the sudden thought that sprung to her mind uninvited. The man who had found the abandoned infant had been Helen's brother – a man who had once been accused of having been a Death Eater. He had been able to prove that he had acted under the _Imperius Curse_ – or had he really _proved_ it? Suddenly, Molly wasn't so sure. But that didn't matter anyway. The Montresorres' story was clearly transparent. And if this Christine was really Bliss' mother, looking desperately for her abducted baby, she would have come here to fight the kidnappers in person. That was enough proof for Molly to know that they were lying.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. **

Chapter 3

_May 1990…_

The day was too cold for May. Not even the slightest sunray penetrated the stark gray sky, heavy from the recent rains. Molly shivered and threw an anxious look at Ginny. For a moment, she wished that she hadn't listened to her, hadn't brought her here to see with her own eyes her friend's departure. But it was too late: before she could shepherd her daughter back home, the gathered crowd saw a red, horse-drawn carriage soaring the sky. The crowd around them gasped. Ginny started hopping from foot to foot, forgetting why they had come here in the first place. "Mum, Mum, these horses have _wings_!"

"Hush, Ginny, be quiet!" Molly scolded while the door opened and outside stepped a creature that she had only read about but had never seen for real.

The woman – the Veela – should be well over fifty, by Molly's estimation, to have a son Molly's own age, but she looked no older than forty. Amazing! The gossiping magazines had been photographing her like forever and she had always looked glorious, but now Molly could see how little justice all photos did Vivienne Montresorre. None of them revealed the pearl radiance of her skin or the will and determination behind the perfection of her facial lines. And those cold blue eyes, the same as her sons' when they had been set upon a victory… _Is Bliss a victory for her, _Molly wondered_. Is she just an object that this woman should reclaim?_ By now, it had been proven without doubt that Bliss _had_ been born into the Montresorre family. But blood was not enough to make a family. Love was more important. Helen and Paul had reared Bliss as their own, while the child's _mother_, the beautiful Christine Lasall, was notoriously absent even now. _Does she even want her, _Molly asked herself_. By what I've seen this far, it's the grandparents who care._ Bliss' father, Henri Lasall, a famous French singer, was not supposed to be here – the man had been dead in years. But what excuse did a mother who wanted her child back not to come to fetch her in person?

Other people came out of the carriage – Aurors, Ministry officials, some people who Molly didn't know. Vivienne Montresorre looked at one of the officials and he nodded and said, "Yes, madame. Go and take the child."

Slowly, Vivienne started walking towards the bench in front of Helen's house where Bliss was sitting, her eyes wide with fear. Dominic Montresorre made a step, as if to follow his wife, but one of the two Aurors shook his head. "Only the woman."

He obviously thought that a woman could deal better with calming a child than a man. _What a fool_, Molly thought. No one, man or woman, could really calm a child who knew that her life had been shattered.

Vivienne stopped in front of the bench and started talking to Bliss. The child shook her head. The Veela kept on talking. Bliss interrupted her again, her voice rising to hysteria. Molly instinctively looked at Helen who was standing next to the bench. Her friend's face was a mask of agony.

Vivienne said something that made Bliss jump to her feet. She started hitting the woman and screaming and Vivienne looked at Helen, as if she expected help. Molly could not believe the audacity of the woman. When Helen did not move, Vivienne pressed Bliss' arms to her sides, but soon was forced to release her, because she just wasn't strong enough to keep her without risking harming her – Bliss was fighting so furiously.

Dominic had had enough. Without listening to the warning shouts of the Aurors, he crossed to the bench with the clear intention of separating Bliss from his wife. One of the Aurors drew his wand but –

"Do not move."

The voice was very controlled, but no less menacing. A wand was pointed at one of the Aurors and they both knew what this particular wand could do any moment. And Michel Montresorre knew that they knew. Molly recognized the great duelist from the newspapers and magazines from her youth. He was famed as the only man in the world who was able to cast _four_ different spells directed at _four_ different persons _simultaneously_. And deadly _accurately_.

"Mum, what are they doing?"

"Be quiet, Ginny!"

From this moment on, everything happened very quickly and messily. Dominic drew Bliss aside. Paul aimed a curse at him. Dominic saw it but made no movement to evade it. Instead, he lost no time: he grabbed Bliss and started carrying her towards the carriage. Paul fired a new curse and Dominic again did not even try to protect himself. Instead, he concentrated on reaching the carriage as quickly as possible. The next hex went by him and someone in the crowd shrieked. Paul also screamed – the wand had burst in flames right in his hands. There had been no spell casted and Molly's eyes immediately went to Vivienne. She knew that Veela magic was different than human one, that they didn't need wands for whatever they did. Dominic Montresorre confirmed her guess: he yelled something in French that Molly translated as, "No! Don't hurt anybody!" The blood kept flowing through the wound in his left arm but he paid no attention at it, busy to get the screaming, squirming child to the carriage. Bliss's fingers drew into the door while passing by it and Dominic stopped and starting unlocking them, again giving a deaf ear to the child's screams of terror. Helen was weeping. Indignant, Molly saw that one of the Ministry officials, a young woman, came to _help _the Frenchman. Vivienne was lying on the ground and the Aurors were trying to drive Paul away from her without using anything dangerous. Mindful to her husband's words, the woman did not use her magic, but she was no physical match for a big and strong man. Only her amazing flexibility and agility – no human woman her age had those – let her escape some serious damages. She tripped Paul and rolled immediately, so he fell to the ground. She tried to stand up, but he grabbed a lock of her long white-blond hair and stopped her. The next moment, the Aurors had had their chance to repel him without risking hurting her.

Vivienne stood up and staggered, blood flowing from her forehead and right cheek. Dominic had finally managed to unlock Bliss' fingers, but now the crowd surrounding them was getting restless. Bliss' screams for Helen to help her made Molly's eyes water. Obviously, many of the other spectators felt the same way. The murmur grew louder. There were some hexes cast and again. Dominic Montresorre did not return them, even those that actually hit him, though Molly saw his hand itching for his wand more than once. The Aurors were trying in vain to calm the crowd . Now, Dominic started dragging the little girl without lifting her. Molly's hand instinctively went to her wand.

"Don't!"

For a moment, she thought that Raymond had been the one speaking – dark-haired, blue-eyed and self-confident as usual. But the young man who had his wand pointed at her was not Raymond.

"Don't do anything stupid, Mrs Weasley," John Lupin said. "Do not make me disarm you. I will, you know."

Still with his wand pointed at her, he went to Dominic and grabbed Bliss' left hand. Another boy at the same age, about eighteen, grabbed the right one and Bliss screamed worse than ever. Next to Molly, Ginny also screamed. The boy was hideously unshapely, his leg unnaturally crooked, his shoulder bent under some strange angle, almost touching his chest. For a child in hysteria, he probably looked like a monster from a tale. Molly could not believe how Emma could have caused this to Bliss and Helen. Was that her revenge for being snubbed, or what? But how did Raymond fit in the picture? Sure, he wasn't here in person, but his son was taking active part in this atrocity.

Dominic readily let go off Bliss and hurriedly went to Vivienne, checking on her wounds. More curses flew, directed at the boys who were dragging Bliss. Helen tried to release her daughter from their grasp, but still not reaching for his wand – the newcomers all must have been instructed to not fight back, - the grotesque of boy pushed her aside and his words, spoken in understandable, if accented English – could be clearly heard. "Go to hell, barren abductor." Then, he proceeded dragging Bliss towards the carriage, despite her shrieks, despite her desperate attempts to resist. Her face was soon stained by the blood that dripped from his newly received wound.

"That's enough!"

Dominic Montresorre's voice echoed across the whole square.

"I said, that's enough! The next one who tries to stop us will be sorry, do you hear me!"

He stood with his wand in his hand, tall and impressive, every bit the renowned duelist that he had been. It seemed that he had lost his trust in Aurors to keep the situation under control and decided to take the matter into his own hands. As soon as he stopped talking, a quick Stunning spell dlew from the tip of his wand and immobilized the man who was aiming a hex at John and who was not even remotely in Dominic's direction.

The square immediately grew quiet. Between Dominic and Michelle Montresorre's wands, no one dared to raise theirs anymore. The only sounds were Helen's sobs and Bliss' screams for help.

The boys finally managed to drag her to the carriage. The misshapen one turned to look at the crowd one last time – to make sure that there was no immediate threat, Molly supposed. There wasn't. Yet, his eyes suddenly changed: by now filled only with fierce determination to defeat the small child and push her into the carriage, they were now full of hatred, malice and – yes, fear. John pushed Bliss into the carriage like a luggage and jumped in after her. Dominic and Vivienne followed, Michel too. John emerged again and started tugging the other one's hand.

"Etienne, come on, Etienne! Let's get out of here!"

But Etienne kept standing there, clenching his right hand into a fist. He was shaking it in the air.

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**A.N. Sorry for this chapter being so short, I just wanted to have something posted before I went out to celebrate my birthday. I wish you all good.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: HP world does not belong to me.**

Chapter 3, Part 2

_August__ 1990…_

Before entering the bookstore, Molly made one final mental check on the family finances and sighed. It really wasn't the time for spending money: the twins needed new robes, many of the schoolbooks had been changed, so she needed to buy two sets for Fred and George, since they could not use Percy's, two of Bill's were of no use to Charlie and she really needed to replace some of the furniture… But well, when was it time for spending money? Percy had pined over this new book of experimental charms for so long and he had been such a darling, always receiving the highest grades, never giving her trouble, unlike two certain pranksters who looked remarkably alike… She entered the bookstore before she had had the time to change her mind and decided that since she was here, after all, she could buy some cookery books. At least they were not expensive.

She found them soon enough and opened one of them, before going to look for Percy's book. She was thinking about what she would cook for dinner when she spotted a familiar face between the shelfs: Raymond was looking through some textbooks. She touched his hand and smiled at him. "Hello. I didn't know you were in England. When did you arrive?"

He returned the smile and left the book back on the shelf. "Yesterday. It was an emergency, I didn't plan to come before October. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. What are you looking at?"

He shrugged. "Some old books of Flitwick's. Arion wants to read them in original – he says that the French version is lacking. But then, he always says that about every book he reads. He supports the opinion that a translation, even the best executed one, is always worse than the original. That's why he avoids such books."

Molly smiled. "Quite ambitious of him," she said.

Raymond shook his head. "Not really. He's fluent in English, so it's not a big deal. If he wanted to be accepted as a model student – now, _that_ would be ambitious."

Molly smiled. "He isn't exactly a role model, isn't he?"

Raymond shrugged. "When something ridiculous happens at Beauxbatons, the first name that is ready to everyone's lips is Arion Lupin's. He doesn't even need to be there for the notion. Merlin, if he used only half of this creativity for something useful – "

Molly could relate to that. She had two like this one at home! On the other hand, Raymond also had two, Arion and Arielle… and from what she had heard from their friends, the girl was worse than her twin.

"He isn't stupid," Raymond went on, "but the teachers doesn't trust him one bit. I don't trust him either," he added as an afterthought and Molly almost laughed. That was Raymond in a nutshell – hot-tempered, but just. Always just. It felt refreshing to know that others had the same problems like her.

"So you buy a book for him?"

"And one for Emma," Raymond said. "She wanted me to take her a children's book to read to her baby. Yes, she has a boy."

"Good for her," Molly said curtly.

Raymond noticed the change in her voice. "Come on, what did poor Emma do to you?"

She gawked at him, not believing that he had asked her this.

"To _me_? Nothing!"

"Ah." Raymond sighed. He was quick to grasp what she was up to. "It seems like you still accept only Helen's version of the events, eh, Molly?"

"What other version is there?" she asked sharply. "They snatched the child like barbarians, is that not a fact?"

Raymond did not look impressed. "I see. Sorry to spoil your rightful indignation, Molly, but this child has a natural family, too, or for the sake of your sense of justice the natural family's position is not important or interesting and it does not contain any facts?"

He spoke in cold, ironic voice, one that he almost never used with his friends – actually, he rarely used it with anyone and that alone was enough to shake Molly out of her confidence that she was right.

"It was abduction," she insisted, despite feeling just a little less sure, "that's what it was."

He did not look nonplussed. "What you call abduction, I call restoring the child to her legitimate family. Don't worry, Barbara feels good. You can say that to Helen. Actually, I am amazed at how quickly she adapted to her new life with her relatives. She and Etienne are a charming sight in front of their father's piano."

Now, that was so overstretched, there was no way that Molly would believe _this_. She started looking through the first book she saw, just to be able not to look at him.

"They changed her name?" she asked incredulously.

He shrugged. "Actually, Helen and Paul changed it. Her father named her Barbara, after her maternal great-grandmother, and he was the only one whose choice of name should be respected. No matter that he lived only a few short hours after that, his wish still counts," he finished, feeling that despite his resolve not to lose his temper, he was getting angry. Her blind loyalty to Helen, her absolute certainty that there had been a crime committed by taking the child from her 'parents' irked him to no end because he knew that she was a good and kind-hearted woman, and still she was so unfair, so judgmental when she had no right to be. She was his friend – but so had been Henri, so had been Christine. They had deserved so much better than what they had got, and he suspected that Molly might have also had a part in it, at least partly, due to her silence. She was not stupid; she must have known that Barbara could not be really Helen's. He only prayed that she hadn't known about Barbara's birth certificate being falsified.

She stared at him. Fortunately, there was no one here who could have eavesdropped on their conversation. "Are you trying to tell me that these ridiculous tales are true?" she asked. Of course, Raymond would say so, otherwise he couldn't exonerate the scandalous behavior of his son, who had dragged a little girl like an animal.

"What do you care whether it's true?" Raymond asked. "It's always easier to believe that it's impossible, right? Because if it's true, it would require… _complicity_. So you chose not to believe it even when you saw it."

"How dare you!" she exploded.

They locked eyes in a silent battle of wills. They were standing so close and yet they felt like there was a whole world separating them, neither willing to understand the other. They were suddenly reminded of the times of war, when friends had been suspecting friends, no one had trusted anybody. Now the distrust was back. It was like the war had never ended.

"I dare more things than you can imagine, my old friend," Raymond finally said and brushed past her to pay for the book. "Let's see how much _you_ dare."

"What do you mean?"

He stopped and gave her a hard glance. "I'd like to see you following the trial in Wizengamot," he said. "I will be there. Bearing witness. Let's see whether you dare to face the truth about what and who you've been supporting all this time."

_Two days later…_

Molly had never been in this room before. She had not witnessed the trials of the alleged Death Eaters – she had been only too happy that it was over and wanted to forget. It was surprisingly well lit for a dungeon and the benches were full, every single seat occupied. As was the chair in the middle of the room, the chair with chains on its arm-rests. Helen's brother, Gareth Stone, was sitting in it. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, occupied the middle of the first row, looking like a person who'd rather be anywhere but here. Molly looked at Helen, who was sitting white-faced and tight-lipped in the last row. Her friend didn't notice her look.

Emma was in the dungeon, too. Still not fully recovered from the recent childbirth, she looked exhausted and unrested. Her hand tightly gripped her husband's and her eyes did not leave the woman who was now testifying – her sister Sarah. Molly barely remembered the girl – she was much younger than Emma, so Molly had never really got to know her while Sarah had been at Hogwarts. Later, her friendship with Emma had fallen apart and after the war, Sarah had turned into a recluse, rarely leaving her parents' house. Thus, Molly had almost forgotten that during the war, the younger woman had been abducted by the Death Eaters and found alive months after You-Know-Who's fall from power. Now, she was telling the story of her ordeal that had caused her some severe damages.

"It's a rare thing for Death Eaters to kidnap their victims, instead of dealing with them where they found them," the Minister interrupted.

For someone who had been hiding in their house for eight years, the young woman looked surprisingly unimpressed. "Oh yes, so I've heard," she said. "But I was not an ordinary victim. They wanted to be sure that I'd reveal to them some information that they believed I had – the knowledge where my cousin James Potter and his family were hiding. So they made an exception."

"And did you have this information?" Fudge asked indifferently.

She shrugged. "Since they had a Secret Keeper, I think the answer is obvious, but I'll give you one anyway. No, I didn't."

"And what do you have to tell us about the current investigation?"

It turned out that she had many things to tell them. She described how her Muggle boyfriend had been experimented on to find out where his magic came from, how he had been tortured to death because of information that he didn't have, how both she and he had been used as objects to practice new spells – not all of them Dark, but too many anyway – on.

"Those were people who just wanted to study us," she said. "By their conversations, I realized that they had not joined the ranks of the Death Eaters because of loyalty to You-Know-Who's – here, she looked at her sister and checked herself, "Lord Voldemort's ideals. They just wanted to gain knowledge that they wouldn't have been allowed to collect otherwise, because it was too disgusting. Inhuman."

_That makes sense, _Molly thought._ Helen's brother is a Ravenclaw and he was always aspiring to knowledge._

Sarah recognized the accused as one of her torturers, explaining that since their masks limited their field of vision, they sometimes took them off. "He was the one who gave me the series of potions that caused me a severe distress and finally made me lose my baby," she finished. Her voice trembled, but there were no tears in her eyes. She had already wept them all.

She explained that she had been kept in a dungeon along with many others. She named some of them and Molly recognized two or three names. Those were people who were supposed to have disappeared without trace. And she wondered why, after Sarah's rescue and her testimony, the wizarding world had not been informed about their fate and what the young woman had described.

Sarah kept talking, sometimes struggling for words. She told them, about some of her cellmates who were taken in despicable condition, never to get back, about the screams coming from the tortured and so on. Molly felt sick. Why didn't anyone know about that? Had they been so willingly blind, so happy that the war was over that they hadn't wanted to be told?

Madame Bones looked at Sarah Potter with sympathy, as did many of the audience. Fudge looked torn between horror and denial. Most of all, he just looked uncomfortable. Raymond stared straight at Molly. She could read the question in his eyes. _Do you see, Molly? Do you see who the person who brought the baby to Helen was? Do you still believe that he just found her abandoned in the street?_

"There were so many of them," Sarah said. "Tens of tortured and killed. Some of them I knew. Others, I get to know in the cells. There was a number of people that I never found who they were. And of course, there were the children."

Fudge frowned. "What children?"

"The Veela kids. The twins. I think they were the only children ever brought there with their doomed parents. They are the ones I remember most vividly, just because there were no other children there."

Now, it was Amelia Bones' turn to frown, perplexed. "What twins?"

Sarah hesitated and raised the glass of water to her lips, but it was empty. An _Aguamenti_ later she moistened her lips and looked at Madame Bones with gratitude. "They were brought there from France," she said. "Separately. The girl was with her father, the boy with his mother. They kept them apart, a few cells away from each other. They experimented on them too, just like they did with everyone else. The father was a famous singer, you know, they said he could break a glass with his voice. They wanted to know how he did it, so they… examined him. He was a Muggleborn, also, and he was examined because of that too. The Veela blood came from the mother, so they examined her too. They wanted to know how she was different than human women. She was pregnant, in the very beginning of her pregnancy, but they tortured her anyway. I was in the same cell with her. I'll never know how she didn't lose her baby. But she didn't."

Bliss. Bliss was the baby that she was talking about. Molly felt weak. She looked at Helen. She was shaking her head, refusing to believe what she was hearing, silent tears streaming down on her cheeks. Paul looked like a man walking towards his own death.

"One of the men who brought her there seemed to have fondness for her, though she did not reciprocate. He shielded her from the worst tortures. But he was not so benevolent towards her children. I saw the boy being Crucioed, Stunned, stretched beyond endurance, so many other things. She did too. He was ten or eleven-year-old, no more. Etienne, that was his name. And his sister was Rhoslyn." She sighed and shook her head. "It was awful, what happened to them. I remember the day when they wrung his arms and legs to the point of almost dislocating them. Then, they tore the muscles of his leg, just to see whether his natural flexibility would help him keep standing. They did it with his mother watching." She swallowed. "I'll never forget his screams… or hers." She looked at the chair in the middle of the dungeon. "And then _he_ came. And the mother, Christine, suddenly started enjoying better treatment, better food. She tried to feed Etienne what she was given, and _he_ Crucioed him. She never did it again."

In the audience, Raymond nodded. He had heard this story from Etienne's own mouth once, when the boy was in one of his very rare moods for talking. Raymond had liked Stone at Hogwarts, he had never suspected that his thirst for knowledge could go so far. Thinking about knowledge made him think about Beauxbatons. John had sat for his NEWTs two months ago, as had Etienne and Rhoslyn. John was feeling positive about the forthcoming results. The twins were less so, but Raymond had been expecting that, given the awful state that they had been in during the examinations. As usual, the other kids around them had been normal, they had been fretting about the exams and not whether there would be justice served, they had not been biting their nails at the thought of saying _yes_ in front of the court. _Yes, this man left me crippled for life just to see what would happen._

A murmur rose in the benches. Sarah Potter's sincerity could not be doubted and yet, was it possible, Molly wondered. Could Gareth Stone, Helen's brother, a man she had known for years, to be so pervert, so cruel? Molly didn't want to believe it. He didn't look like a monster, but then, who knew? The real, human monsters did not look like it. They were roaming free among the people, they scanned the crowds and stalked their prey…


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Chapter 5

_An hour later…_

The silent room suddenly erupted in whispers, as the young man went down the aisle to take the place recently vacated by Sarah Potter who was now sitting next to her sister, having finally been allowed to watch the further development of the trial after testifying. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot, but she looked calm. So did the boy.

Everyone in the hall had seen him. The Daily Prophet – Rita Skeeter, in particular – had caused quite a stir about his participation in taking poor Bliss away from her family. The pictures of the crying child being dragged by John and Etienne had made the headlines for weeks. The contrast between the beautiful little girl and the boy who probably scared her by his very appearance had been very effective.

Maybe it was due to Sarah' testimony about his ordeals or maybe not, but today, Molly suddenly realized that Etienne Lasall was, in fact, a very handsome boy. His face was fair and determined, its lines perfect, his eyes were striking blue, his thick hair pure silver. He was tall and slim, the limbs on his left side long and strong under his robes. But he was sorely twisted and deformed down his right side and while Molly had considered it ugly and sad when she thought it was just a misfortune at birth, maybe a healer's fault, she now realized that it was merely horrible if Sarah's words were true. Despite any common sense, she hoped they weren't. The thought of a child being stretched, twisted, tortured to the extent of getting such deformities made her feel nauseous. And a man she knew… or thought she knew… having a part in this? It was far easier to believe that Etienne and his family, Sarah and everyone else were just a bunch of liars and villains. But Raymond had already testified in his capacity as both a healer and family, verifying that Etienne had been born a physically normal, healthy child. Ten years later, they had found him crippled for life_._ Raymond was an honest man. There was no way that he'd lie about such a thing._ If Gareth is the one to blame, no sentence they might give him could possibly be harsh enough_, Molly thought.

Etienne Lasall talked about things that Sarah had had no way of knowing and the audience even less. He talked about his home being attacked by the Death Eaters, his baby sister being seized from his mother and thrown against the wall where her skull broke, about being separated from his father and twin sister and dragged from one dungeon to another while being experimented on. He kept talking and the mood in the room changed from horror to antipathy to disbelief and revulsion and then all at once.

There was no way of doubting the boy's sincerity. Contrary to the common practice, it had been arranged for him to testify under Veritaserum. Arthur had told Molly that it had been Etienne's own family's demand, so that his word would be taken without any reservations. _They must really want to have their revenge_, Molly had thought yesterday. _They must really want justice_, she thought now, not realizing that her attitude to the whole matter had changed.

Etienne's testimony was not as emotional as Sarah's, but a few times he had to leave his seat to collect himself in the hallway. Molly realized that each time John went with him, accompanied by a dark girl their age. Rhoslyn, Etienne's sister? She did not look like him. Then they would come back and Etienne would start talking again and John and the girl would look at him with grief and shock. No matter how good friends they might be, it was obvious that he had never said to them as much as he was revealing now to everyone, he hadn't shared all the details.

It was not easy to sympathize whole-heartedly with him, though, because he did not behave like a victim. He was aggressive and angry at the world, vengeful. He made no effort to hide his hatred of the convict and that made him a somewhat unreliable witness. Physically and mentally ugly, that was the impression that he gave. The dark energy coming from him supposed that he wouldn't hesitate to lie if that would get Gareth sentenced. But alas, as unpleasant as he might be, he was telling the truth. The Veritaserum made sure of that.

The most crushing detail for Molly was not the story of the torment, or even that he positively identified Gareth as the man who had twisted his leg so severely that it would stay crooked forever. No, it was the story of Barbara's – Bliss' – birth. Obviously, Etienne had been with his mother the whole time. He had seen his sister being born. He claimed that his mother had given birth blindfolded and that she was not even told whether her baby was a boy or a girl despite her pleas, despite her desperate attempts to rise and see it. He said that Gareth had taken the infant when it was just minutes old. "He had meant to give it to his barren sister all along," the boy said viciously, "I'm sure of that. They planned it as soon as they realized that my mother was pregnant."

Since he had no way to prove this claim of his, the Wizengamot ordered him to choose his words. But it was too late: the whispers started anew. Molly listened to them, her mind working busily. Was it true? Had Helen conspired to take the baby of an imprisoned woman immediately after birth? And if it was true, what was Molly's part in this? She had known that Bliss could not be Helen's and she had kept silent. She had trusted her friend that the newborn had been abandoned. She felt sick as she thought about the unknown young woman who had had her baby killed, her son tortured in front of her and her infant seized from her right after the childbirth. The thought of having had a part in this was horrible.

Finally, it was over. Molly could feel the collective sigh of relief from the audience when Etienne went to sit next to his grandparents after almost an hour of testifying. The relief was short-lived, though: Rhoslyn Lasall took her brother's place. The nasty details were far from over. She identified Gareth as one of her torturers and claimed that she had seen him actually killing a woman with his experiments.

This time, the mood in the hall was different. Rhoslyn evoked more sympathy than her brother. She was very beautiful and tormented, her fair hair and face made her look like an angel. It was also obvious that she was pregnant, heavily pregnant. She made an effort not to look at Gareth or Helen and Molly thought that if she had seen her before, she wouldn't have needed any tests to allege Bliss' real parentage: as delicate and exquisite like a creature not from this world, Rhoslyn was like Bliss' double, just older.

The questioners were more considerate of her than they were of Etienne. She broke down a few times as she described the tortures that she, her father and the other captives had endured, how they had screamed themselves mute so they could only open and close their mouths like fishes, how they had been all punished out of fear and anger at the news of Lord Voldemort's fall, how not only her father, but so many of her cellmates had starved to feed her, gone thirsty so that she would have water, bandaged her wounds with the pieces they tore from their own clothes. Her obvious anguish and fear of Gareth won her everyone's sympathy. That was why Molly was so shocked to hear a suddenly rough voice, Lucius Malfoy's. "So you are the one to blame for their deaths, Miss Lasall," he said. "You must be feeling terribly guilty, taking their food and water from them. If it wasn't for you, they might have still been alive."

The hall erupted in roars of indignation. Rhoslyn, who was already pale, blanched even more and grabbed the armrests to steady herself. Etienne jumped up, ready to physically attack Malfoy, but his grandfather and John forced him to sit back.

"Malfoy!" Madame Bones outvoiced the din. "Shut your mouth up. If you utter as much as another word, you'll be out of your nice job in a minute, do you hear me!"

He did not, in fact, utter another word, but he seemed so smug that Molly wanted to slap him.

It was over in minutes. Most of the members of the Wizengamot slowly raised their hands: guilty. Molly could not help but notice that Minister Fudge was not one of them. Well, it made sense: he was trying so desperately to forget that there had ever been a war, he could hardly be expected to pass a verdict on one of the most prominent members of the wizarding world in Britain. He reluctantly announced that the convict would get a lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban. There was no other option, the scandal was too big, there were influential people from different countries watching. The decision was out of Fudge's hands.

For a few moments, there was complete silence, followed by sobs. Helen was weeping. Vivienne Montresorre hugged and kissed first her grandchildren and then her husband before collapsing on the bench sobbing. Rhoslyn also wept with relief. Etienne's face relaxed so much that Molly suddenly realized how tensed he had been before.

The hall erupted in roars again, this time of approval. People broke into applause. It had been quite a while until the Wizengamot had seen such support. In fact, Molly could not remember such a case after Fudge's rise to power.

Gareth reacted as if it did not concern him at all. He even smiled. "Monster!" someone shouted and the prisoner was escorted outside amidst a storm of roars "Degenerate!" and "Go killing again, if you can! " Molly saw that John was one of those unable to constrain themselves. "Monster!" he cried. "Go experimenting _now_!"

Molly wanted to go to Helen, but the stir in the hall was so big that she could not reach her. The Dementors led Gareth away without any resistance of his part, amidst shouts and insults from almost everyone. When he was already at the door, he suddenly turned back and looked at the group that had formed around the Lasall siblings. Straight at them. The sobbing Rhoslyn did not hold his attention, but he caught Etienne's eye. "Etienne Lasall!" he shouted. "Your suffering as a child will seem like a nice holiday compared to what awaits you when we meet again."

Rhoslyn screamed.

Etienne returned Gareth's glance dispassionately. "Dream about it while you still can," he said. "I expect it won't last long in Azkaban."

Then the Dementors took Gareth away and Etienne sat heavily on the bench, his face white. There was no mistaking the feeling that Molly saw on his face: fear, deep and painful fear. It had not come now, she realized. It had always been there. It had been there while he was giving testimony; it had been there the whole time while he faced Gareth with unblinking eyes.

"This monster," Raymond spat.

That was the first time when Molly felt sure that the accusations were true. Until now, there had been a shadow of doubt, a glint of hope. Now, there was none. She looked at Etienne and Rhoslyn and thought about Bliss. The twins were victims just like her. Not that it changed anything, of course. The little girl was probably enduring an awful trauma even now, being separated from the only family she knew. But then, who knew whether it had been right or wrong? Raymond had said that Bliss had grown used to Etienne when only a few months ago she hadn't wanted to see him at all. In a few years, when she grew older, would she want to see Helen and Paul at all? They had been raising her properly. Her grandparents were… well, grandparents. Could they give her what she needed? Yet, these arguments sounded suddenly flat. Gareth's trial had changed everything. Molly felt that she was not sure about Helen anymore. About her not knowing the truth, in any case. About her right to keep Bliss – well, she certainly had none. The child hadn't been abandoned, she had been taken from her parents in a nightmare that Molly shuddered only to think about. But who was she to tell whether Bliss removal from Helen and Paul had been justified or not?

"It was," a woman's voice, Emma's, suddenly spoke. Startled, Molly realized that she had been thinking aloud.

"What?" Molly asked.

Emma looked exhausted. The day had been a difficult one for her. Vivienne Montersorre looked worse than Emma and even Helen. Molly could sympathize with her. It must have been awful to sit here listening to what had been done to her daughter and grandchildren.

Molly looked around. The hall was slowly clearing. Sarah was sobbing, clinging to Michel Montresorre's hand. He looked moved, relieved and angry, all at the same time.

Emma looked at Helen who was still sitting on the bench weeping. There was no mercy in her eyes. "She knew," she said. "She must have known it all along."

'What?" Molly asked. "I am not following you."

Emma did not look away from Helen. "Molly," she asked, "when she met us at Fortescue, what did you tell her?"

"What?"

"When you Firecalled her, did you tell her that you were with me, that I was there? Or did you just invite her to join _you_?"

Molly frowned. "I don't remember. Why? Is it important?"

Finally, Emma looked at her and smiled harshly. "You know Raymond's children, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes, I do, but why – "

"And he knows yours, right? At least, he had seen them on occasions."

"Yes, of course."

Emma nodded, as if she had just had a theory confirmed. "Of course," she repeated. "We are all friends from school. It's only natural to know each other's children."

She looked straight at Molly. "Why had Raymond never seen Helen's daughter, Molly?" she asked. "Why had she hidden her from him?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_In the evening…_

"Where are you going?"

"Out," Sarah replied shortly.

"When are you going to come back?"

"I don't know, Mother."

Mrs Potter gave her a piercing look. Sarah knew that her mother was trying to learn where she intended to go and who she would meet. She was concerned about her and Sarah appreciated that… but later, it had started nagging at her. She was twenty-seven year old, not seven! On the other hand, she could understand that three goings out in a week were a great change for a woman who had spent months without any.

"Have a nice evening," her mother said and Sarah left.

She hoped to see Emma in her hotel, but her sister and Philippe had gone out. Instead, in their room she saw Michel Montresorre: he held their newborn baby in his arms and talked to him quietly in French. Without realizing it, Sarah smiled. "Hello," she said and entered.

Michel looked at her, surprised. "Hi," he said. "Did you and Emma have a meeting? She isn't here…"

"No, no," she interrupted quickly. 'I just hoped I'd find her here."

"She and Philippe are out for a dinner. I am their babysitter for tonight. Would you sit down?"

Sarah hesitated and sat down. He looked at her critically. "You don't look good," he said.

"Not as I should after the sentence?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he looked down at the baby. Sarah saw that this evening, he was too pale ever for a blond-haired man. Blue veins cut through his skin, dark lines circled his eyes. She did not delude herself that she looked better. She only hoped that her makeup would be enough to hide the worst of it.

"I thought it would be so wonderful," she said softly. "I thought I'd be excited, that I'd feel like flying… but it's nothing like that."

He looked at her and nodded. "That's the difference between him and us. In our shoes, he would have felt all these things."

All Sarah could feel was the sense of loss and emptiness. The sentence had not remedied anything. Her fiancé was still dead, as well as the others. Etienne Lasall was still crippled. And she… she had lost nine years of her life. She had lost her youth. Everything that she might have seen or experienced had been taken from her. Really, nothing had changed.

She made a movement to take the baby, but Michel stopped her. "He's tired," he said. "If we leave him alone, he'll fall asleep, but if you take him, he'll become excited and cranky."

Sarah sat back. "You are very good with children," she said.

He smiled. "Do you have any idea how many nephews and nieces I have?"

She stared at him. Ever since their first meeting a few months ago, she had been intrigued by the cool half-Veela, so handsome and so aloof. She had asked Emma a few questions about him, but she couldn't ask her sister what she most wanted to know. Anyway, according to Emma there was nothing special about his personal life. The newspapers agreed with her. He simply had none.

"Have you ever wanted to have children of your own?" she suddenly asked.

He took his wand out and Summoned two glasses and a bottle of wine. "No," he said.

"Why not?" Sarah asked. "Do you know why not?"

He looked thoughtful. "I am not sure," he replied. "I think that's always been a missing piece of my psyche. I have never felt the desire to be a father. I am happy the way I live. Thank Merlin, I have my career back, I have my family and a few friends, I have Charles, who is like a son to me, and I have women who I date now and then. Maybe that's enough for me. I like to keep things simple."

"And is it enough for these women?" Sarah asked. She was curious about the life Michel had described to her. It looked so poor to her. He was afraid of something but she couldn't understand what it was. Oh he hid it very well, but Sarah was a fear expert – she had so much fears of her own.

"Up to date, no one has complained," he answered coolly. Sarah saw him withdrawing before her eyes.

"Sure," she said. "How would you know?"

"What do you mean?" There was ice in his voice. He had started filling the glasses but did not finish. _Blue eyes can tear you apart like no others_, Sarah thought. She could hardly believe how rude she was. But if she wanted to have a life of her own, she'd better start as soon as possible. _Damn it, I will have one, no matter what it takes me!_ For the last months, she had seen what other people had, what Emma and Philippe had and had wanted the same thing for herself. But it would not find it in her parents' home; she would have to find it and fight for it.

The baby had fallen asleep. Now it was safe to touch his cheek. She and Michel looked at each other over the cot. "I hope he'll be very lucky in life," Michel said and she nodded.

"How are the twins?" she asked and Michel sighed.

"They are not well. But they will be. They have no other choice. John and Vanessa do not leave them alone. They are the only ones whose company the twins desire."

He filled the glasses and handed her one of them, but neither drank – they were both lost in their memories. "I still remember his screams when they twisted him like a piece of elastic cord," Sarah whispered. "I'll never forget this."

Michel stared not at her, but at something beyond, something long gone. "He was supposed to be the next king of the dueling world," he said, almost absent-mindedly. "Did you know this?"

"No, I didn't."

He looked at her, his eyes clear, his mind back in the present. "He was," he said. "He had the magical abilities, the physical qualities and the temper to become a very great champion. If these… people hadn't gotten their hands on him, he would have reigned in the great halls for many years. Instead, he has to use these physical qualities just to live as normal life as possible."

Sarah did not know what to say. He looked angry and sad at the same time. It did matter to him what his nephew was forced to spend his great qualities about.

"For now, _you_ are the champion," she said. "What made you come back, after all these years?"

Michel had retired from dueling years ago when he had been at the zenith of his career – three times world champion, an European champion and only Merlin knew what else. Only a few months ago, he had made a surprising comeback by winning the national championship of France. Only weeks ago, at the European Championships he had been crowned champion after a hard battle and rumours persisted that he'd be in the team that would participate in the World Championship next year.

He smiled. "I always said that it was not a final thing. Well, it wasn't. I am back and I will stick… for a long time."

That was very self-confident, especially coming from him. He might look haughty and reserved, but Sarah had realized long ago that he was, in fact, painfully self-conscious. Then again, he was very lacking in social skills, so maybe he just didn't realize how that might sound.

"Only weeks ago, the wards broke and the curse of your rival hit you quite dangerously," she said. "Does that change your attitude toward the big competitions?

"Why should it?" he asked and raised his glass in a silent toast. They drank.

"Aren't you afraid that you might be hurt again?" she insisted. The wine felt nice and cold and she remembered that she and her Muggleborn fiancé had often drunk Muggle stuff. She hadn't tasted wine since his death. "Don't you ever think that the next time your rival can't control the strength of his blow you might suffer a serious harm? Does this thought never occur to you, especially when you have to stand against the one who is responsible for the first accident?"

"No." He drank and left his glass on the table. "I never think about the next accident. I only think about the next competition."

"Isn't that overweening?" Sarah felt that her voice had become quarrelsome but she couldn't stop. When she was with him she was always disturbed and excited, although she did not know why. She couldn't have chosen someone worse to wake up her sleeping senses. She knew that she had gone too overboard – both in thoughts and tongue – but she couldn't do anything about it. "Or are you too complacent for thinking straight? One moment of carelessness, one slow movement, and you might find yourself worse off than Etienne. Tell me," she said, "what are you thinking about when you see the curses flying towards you? What are you thinking when you go to the mat?"

"About winning," Michel answered without hesitation. Her sharp voice changed his previous nonchalance. His eyes roamed her face. She had blushed with anger and that made his interest stronger. Her hair was dark next to the torch. He had always preferred dark-haired women, maybe because his mother and sisters were all blond. She looked so tense. The trial had been too hard on her.

"Is victory really this important?"

Michel looked her straight in the eye. "Yes. It is everything."

His voice told her that he was absolutely sincere. Sarah helplessly shook her head.

"What's your problem?" he asked bewildered. "This is _my_ life. Why do _you_ look so upset?"

She looked at him. She was very pale, like someone who experienced a great deal of physical pain. She said, "Oh, it's a funny thing. Something that should make you laugh! A few months ago, I came to Paris to help catching a dangerous Death Eater and you just walked in and… how should I say it? It was as if you _Imperiused_ me! That's how I felt it. I entered as one woman and left as a completely different one."

She made a step towards him. "I am in love with you, Michel Montresorre. And since I am in love, you cannot expect of me to be happy when you're talking about victory being everything and women you date just from time to time and not care enough to ask them whether _they_ are satisfied with what you give them."

"And what do you suggest that I do?"

"I suggest that you date me instead. But I suppose that idea would gain me only laughter because you already have a girlfriend – your victory."

"And one that demands a full-time courtship she is."

Sarah glared at him and drained her glass. "You have a devilish tongue, Michel."

"I'm afraid you don't really like me, Sarah, no matter how strong your passion might be."

"I don't think I like you. At all."

Staring at her expression, he said, "I'm starting to realize what's going on. You intended to have a normal life and a family after leaving your seclusion, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"But not with someone like me?"

"I've never thought of a man who resembles you even vaguely."

"Of course not. I know your type. And I know it well."

"You're so intelligent, dear Michel."

"A nice man, with affinity to family who works from nine to eight and spends all his free time with you and the children."

"The image quite appeals to me!"

"Yes, I am sure it does."

There was a long silence. Michel came closer and took her hands. They stood, confused and uncertain, as if there was something unspoken hanging in the air.

Then, as if someone had lifted an _Imperius_, they moved at the same moment. Michel hugged her and she rested her head on his shoulder. "I do not promise you anything." His voice was hoarse and uncertain.

"I know." She knew, but no promises were better than returning to this self-imposed seclusion in her parents' house. Only a few months ago, she had never thought of living in a different way. It was a sheltered, secured life. But now she had been reminded what the world outside was like and she had realized that she needed more than security. She wanted to live in the sunlight and draw on the energy of love and laughter. She would not go back. She could not.

"I might end up hurting you," he warned.

"You might," Sarah agreed and placed a hand on his back. "What are you afraid of?" she whispered.

She felt him stiffen, only for a moment. Then his hand stroked her hair. "Am I this obvious?" he asked.

"Only to me," she replied. "I know everything about fears. What is yours?"

Michel did not answer. Instead, he pressed his face in her hair. He was absolutely shocked. Very few people knew about his fears, about the insecurities brought by his earliest days as a competitor, the constant disparaging of his qualities by his father, the fact that he had been twice sent as a reserve member of the team when his scores had been high enough to participate on his own… Now he understood why his father had done it and he knew that Dominic had been right in his actions, but it was too late. These things had affected him when he had been learning how to relate to people and the fact that he was reserved by nature made it all worse. He hid it carefully, though. Not even his friends suspected about the fears hidden behind his cool mask, except for maybe Reynald. And here she was, she barely knew him and still… "You're making a mistake," he said. He would disappoint her. She wanted more than he could give her.

"We'll see," she replied and pulled his head down to her lips.

_Ten months later…_

When Michel came back to London for the World Championship, Sarah came with him. They were not welcomed to her parents' home, so they stayed in a hotel on Diagon-Alley. Five days later, he was on the podium in the great hall and it was so different than the first time he had won the world title, again here, in London. He had been turning seventeen then, and he had forgotten that he had a birthday, he was so concentrated on the competition. After the victory, he had been hit so hard by the fatigue and tension gathered through the last few months of sped up training and the competition itself that he had only wanted to sleep. He vaguely remembered people asking him, "Are you happy now?" and he not knowing what to say. He'd been absolutely inadequate, as if flowing through nothingness. He hadn't heard anything, not even the anthem.

Now this was his first decisive victory after his comeback. Far more difficult than the ones before it and far more cherished, because there had been many gossips that he hadn't quite regained his form from before retiring, that he was distracted by his new girlfriend – Sarah, – that he hadn't trained enough and he wouldn't win the title.

Now on the podium Michel could feel himself, he heard the anthem and he was happy beyond description that he had shown and proved that he could achieve it whenever he said and whenever he wanted. After the ceremony, he was immediately surrounded by people who asked him questions, wanted to touch him and have their photos taken with him. The first photo he took was with Sarah, the second – with a little blonde girl who had cheered and applauded him starry-eyed. That was the picture that went round all Britain, just like a year ago had the picture of the same girl drawing back and screaming that she didn't want to go to him and her other relatives.

"Children are really adaptable," Molly said over breakfast, looking at the picture in the newspaper. "Bliss looks happy."

Bill went to have a look over his mother's shoulder. "I suppose we should call her Barbara," he said slowly and helped himself to another cup of coffee. "Do you think they knew?" he asked. He had noticed that his mother's relations with Helen had become somewhat strained.

"She says they didn't," Molly answered and he snorted.

"Yeah, sure."

She gave him a stern look. "William Arthur Weasley, I don't care how old you are, I won't tolerate such manners in _this_ house."

"Sorry, Mum," he said and tried to look ashamed. "But I don't believe this."

"Neither do I," she admitted. True, she believed that in the beginning, Helen had believed her brother that the baby had been abandoned, but when the girl was about a year old, her behavior had changed – more protective, more secluding Bliss from the others. It was strange that Molly had not paid attention at the time. But deep inside, she must have known that something was wrong, otherwise she wouldn't have remembered the change.

She breathed slowly and her thoughts drifted towards Aunt Muriel who was currently at St. Mungo's after an accident with a kettle that had sprinkled her with hot water. She suspected that Fred and George had something to do with it. She could always rely on them to find her something to do. Now she had to visit Aunt Muriel and put up with her murmuring for at least half an hour.

But Aunt Muriel was not the first person she saw in St. Mungo's. Somehow, she got the road wrong and found the unit for permanently damaged patients. When she turned to leave, she pressed the handle of the wrong door and found herself in a long corridor that ended nowhere. But she couldn't go back – there was some charm on the door that prevented her from opening it again. She could go only one way and at the end of this way, she saw the same little girl from the newspaper – Bliss. Barbara. She was in a room on the left, the glass door was slightly ajar and Molly could hear that she was talking to someone lying in a bed. Molly couldn't see his face. Only when Bliss got up, said, "Goodbye, Mr Truth" and stroked his face before stepping aside, Molly realized who the person in the bed was. John Lupin. Neither dead nor alive. Existing under the Curse of the living death. She had known about the accident, of course, at the time all newspapers read about it, but somehow she had never taken it for real. She had preferred not to think about it. Maybe like she had preferred not to think about the change in Helen's behavior towards Bliss? Then how could she have ever thought that she could decide what was black and what was white? If she didn't think about unpleasant things while they happened and only knew about them afterwards?


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_The day after…_

Barbara was looking critically at Michel's outstretched hand. "You are not doing it prettily enough," she announced, meaning the whirl of his wrist that gave direction to his curse.

"But it's effective enough," her seven year old cousin Lucien said.

"Not pretty," she insisted and almost stomped her foot on the floor. Aunt Elise said that every movement should be supple, graceful and beautiful, even the smallest gesture. Barbara idolized Aunt Elise and lapped at her words as they were decreed by Merlin himself… but she was a ballerina. Uncle Michel was a duelist, so maybe that made difference?

Michel laughed. "You've been spending too much time with my sister," he said, but secretly he was glad that the child felt so comfortably around them, relaxed enough to tell him what she didn't like about him. She behaved as if she had always lived with their family… although who could be sure what was going on in this pretty little head of hers? She surely missed the home she had lived in her whole life, she surely missed her 'parents'. But after the first few weeks, she had slipped into their everyday routine amazingly smoothly. He could tell that she felt her connection to them – their bearing, their interest of arts and music, all that her 'parents' had denied her.

"I will be a ballerina, just like Aunt Elise and Cousin Delphine," she announced.

Lucien rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we kind of know that. You've been repeating it in like, say, six months?"

Margo Saint Claire laughed. "We'll be having two celebrities in the next ten years," she said. "The world dueling champion and the finest ballerina in the world."

Both children gave her suspicious looks but she pretended not to see. "It will be today," she said to Michel, barely audibly. "This night."

"What?" Lucien asked. "What will be today?"

"Nothing, pup," his uncle said and smiled for the children's benefit. Sarah silently squeezed his fingers. "Let's see, do we have anyone hungry here?"

"Yes!" Barbara and Lucien chorused.

"Come on," Margo said. "I'll bring you to the _Broken Wand_. You know," she added, looking at Barbara, "that was the restaurant where your father had the best news in his life – the news of Rhoslyn and Etienne's birth. They were expected to arrive a month later, but fortunately, they were very healthy and strong. Your father was so happy that he bought Firewhiskey for every patron in the restaurant."

"Really?" the girl asked, her eyes alive, eager.

"Yes, really," Michel said. "And then he worked three months to pay for the Firewhiskey!"

Everyone laughed.

Again, Barbara desperately wished that she had known her father… or that her mother would come back to the wizarding world. At the beginning, she had refused to believe that she was who these people claimed who she was, that she was Barbara Lasall. She had spent her entire life as Bliss. _An entire lie as Bliss_, she thought. But later, she couldn't deny the blood tests, the photos, the similarities, the fact that she bore no resemblance to Helen and Paul and that she was the spitting image of the girl in Rhoslyn's childhood pictures. This new identity explained so many things, like why touching gold hurt her – that was because of her Veela heritage, - why she was moved by every melody she heard while her 'parents' were not impressed at all, why she was so fond of dancing. Her aunt was the very best ballerina in the world! Her cousin followed in their aunt's steps. Even her _grandmother_, old as she was, was a fantastic dancer! She would be like them one day, she had vowed months ago.

Not that she didn't miss her former family. She did. Especially in the night, or where everyone was talking too fast for her to follow. She now understood and spoke French fluently, but she still had much work to do about her speed of talking. She missed being a part of the threesome that she, Helen and Paul represented. But then, she was never a real part, was she? They had stolen her from her real mother and father. Or pretended that they didn't know she had been stolen. Her grandmother and her aunt Margo always reminded her that Helen and Paul did love her but she couldn't, shouldn't live with them anymore. At this point, Barbara did not want to. She had the feeling of real belonging – here, in this family of ballerinas, singers and duelists, although she was still not a true part of it yet – not like Etienne and Rhoslyn or her cousins. But it would come with time.

How had she looked at their eyes, their hair, their teeth, their manners, checking for similarities! One of the first things she had asked after the first few weeks of adapting to her new situation had been "What did my mother look like? What did my father look like?" They had showed her pictures and answered her questions. From pictures, she had moved to objects that had belonged to her parents. Her mother's silver hairbrush had become her personal treasure, as well as Christine's perfume bottles that Rhoslyn had collected as a child. She had given them to Barbara – a myriad of bottles in all shapes and aromas. Sometimes, Barbara looked through her mother's clothes – all Muggle style, fashionable and elegant. Christine had taken nothing with her when she had left the wizarding world brokenhearted.

From objects, Barbara had moved to stories about her parents. Etienne and Rhoslyn were always ready to tell her of their father's great success, of their mother's many admirers, of the travels they had been taken to with their parents.

But the most wonderful stories came from her uncle Alain. He told her about his childhood spent with them, about their days at Beauxbatons, about Christine's jealousy that drove her to do things that were simply hilarious – though neither she nor Henri saw them this way back then!

There was one thing that she didn't have, though. Something that she wanted more than anything. A box that kept her family's memories, an object that she knew only by photos and description… and that she had seen with her very eyes.

She told that to the others and her aunt looked at her with wide eyes. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Barbara nodded. "It has always been there," she said. "I've looked at it for years but I never knew what it was. Yes, I am sure."

Margo looked at Michel. "I am not sure what we should do… " she started hesitantly.

He smiled darkly. "Aren't you? Well, I am. I'll be damned if I leave to these thieves anything of the stolen stuff."

Margo and Sarah both glared at him: they were convinced that speaking ill about Barbara's former 'family' in front of her was useless and bad for her. He shrugged: to him, things were the way they were. They did not change just because someone had decided to play delicate. The sooner the girl saw the truth for what it was, the better.

Margo let out a long sigh. "Very well, I will take you there, Barbara. Michel, will you accompany us?"

He huffed a laugh and finally let his wand, convinced that his lesson with Lucien was over. "I cannot say I am very keen on going back there," he said. "But I won't let the two of you go alone. Yes, I will accompany you."

"Can I come, too?" Lucien asked.

"No!" the three adults chorused. "You are staying with me," Sarah said. "Stay put."

He pouted but he could tell a 'no' that could be turned into a 'yes' from a 'know' that was a certain, firm 'no'. So he stayed put.

Margo had never been to St. Ottery Catchpole but Michel had, once, so he Apparated them right in front of the house. Margo needed a moment to fight the nausea from the Apparition, but soon she nodded that she was well. "Do you want to come with us?" she asked.

Michel shook his head. He didn't want to set a foot in this house, ever, because he didn't know what he would do if he had to face again its wretched inhabitants.

At the threshold, Margo looked at the child. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked. "We can still go back at the hotel…"

"I am sure," Barbara said.

Helen opened the door as soon as they knocked. Her face turned deathly pale. She opened her mouth to say something but Barbara brushed past her without doing as much as looking at her.

"What - ?" Helen started and then looked at Margo with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing in my house?"

So, she had recognized her. Margo's lifestory was one of the most well-known in the wizarding world. She had first made the headlines as the tragic bride who had been widowed in her wedding day and hadn't stopped being the media's darling – or villain – ever since. Besides, for the last year there had been many pictures of her with Barbara. She met Helen's eye without flinching. She did not respond and somehow managed to resist her impulse to show off her increasing stomach to the other woman who had stolen Christine's baby because she'd never become pregnant herself.

Barbara came back in less than a minute. She was holding something like a small silver castle in a glass orb in both hands.

"Bliss!" Helen tried to call her but the child only looked at her and went out followed by Margo. Outside, she went straight for Michel and showed him the sounvenir. He nodded that he recognized it and then took Barbara by the hand and led her in the street. Helen dejectedly looked after them, her eyes full. The girl turned to look at her once without letting off Michel's hand.

Then Margo groaned softly. Alarmed, Michel grabbed her hand. "Are you okay?"

She managed a weak smile. "The baby is not pleased with me today. I need to sit down and have a warm drink, nothing more. I'm okay."

It was easier said than done. They could not go to the local shops. Everyone here knew Barbara and they did not want to face the questions and rumours that would inevitably arise. They could wait for Margo to feel better and then Apparate away but it would take long and standing here was not exactly a better option.

"Come on," the girl suddenly said. "I've got an idea."

* * *

_Four minutes later…_

Molly Weasley didn't believe her eyes when she saw the blond girl on her doorstep.

"Can we go in, Mrs Weasley?" Bliss asked, licking her lips nervously. "My aunt doesn't feel that good."

It was not in Molly's nature to refuse hospitality when someone did not feel good. In the next few minutes, she fussed over the pregnant woman and the two of them made a small talk about the inconveniences of that condition. Molly didn't stop throwing secret looks at Bliss, who was looking around, taking everything in, as if trying to detect what had changed during her absence and what had stayed the same. With some relief, she noticed that the girl didn't look starved, although she was too thin now. But she looked healthy. And she did not seem to fear the people she had brought to this house.

"Why is it so quiet?" Bliss asked. "Where is everyone?"

Molly shrugged and gave her a piece of cake that Bliss tasted immediately. Michel Montresorre declined politely and the pregnant woman only shook her head. Not too surprised, Molly poured her a cup of tea.

"I am alone," she said.

Bliss looked disappointed. "I hoped to see Ginny," she said. "You will convey my greetings to her, won't you?"

Molly assured her that she would. "Don't you have new friends?" she ventured.

Bliss' face was lit by a brilliant smile. "Yes, tons of them," she said. "They are mostly my cousins. First of all Lucien."

"Lucien is my stepson," the woman said by the way of explaining. "Barbara lives with her uncle and me now."

"Oh." Molly had expected that the girl lived with her grandparents. Of course, it made sense that she'd feel better with younger people, but she was surprised anyway. This woman certainly hadn't been present at the barbaric snatching of the child.

"I am Margo Saint Claire, Mrs Weasley," she said. "I think you know both my sister and sister in-law. Emma always speaks highly of you."

For a moment, Molly felt guilty for not having always spoken highly of Emma. So that was Margo Saint Claire. Of course, she had heard Sylvie talking about her when she had still been living in Britain. Margo didn't look like her. She was more like Philippe – dark and tall, with finely chiseled facial features. But she was not washed out like him. She was vital and vibrant, even the pregnancy couldn't take that from her.

"Who is her uncle?" Molly asked and looked at Michel. Certainly he was too young for Margo? She sure was beautiful, but with his looks and fame, he could have any woman he wanted, including a girl who has barely graduated. Men were like this: they preferred youth.

"My husband is Alain,' the Frenchwoman explained. "Alain Montresorre. He and Barbara's mother were always very close and besides, he was best friends with Barbara's father. That's why Etienne and Rhoslyn came to live with us after they were freed."

"And now I live with them, too!" Bliss announced, leaving her cake half-eaten. She couldn't let herself eat the whole thing. Ballerinas did not do such things.

"I see," Molly said. What she didn't see was what the glass castle was doing here. Had they actually taken the ornament from Helen's house? Were they this cheeky? What was going on?

"It belonged to my sister," Michel said slowly, looking her in the eye. "It disappeared after the Death Eaters attacked their house. I'd say that Gareth Stone presented his sister with it. Although it's hardly as valuable as the child he gave her, it is still something."

Margo felt like hitting him but of course, she could not do it with this stranger watching. They had to act as a union in front of the others. What they did in private was a fully different matter altogether.

"He never knew the real value of his gift," Michel went on.

"May I see it?" Bliss asked eagerly. They were talking about the castle, so there was nothing wrong with her asking that, right?

Michel and Margo looked at each other. He shrugged. She nodded. He took his wand out and pointed it at the glass. "_Alohomora_!"

The gate of the castle opened like an actual door. A fine cloud of mist started filling the room. Molly gasped when the mist settled into fully formed images – a picture of mist, a shades of times long gone. A beautiful young woman in a white wedding gown. Another picture of the same woman on the seashore, in Muggle clothes, her hair waving like a silver halo, running towards someone. He was certainly not as attractive as she was, but to her, he was the most amazing man alive – it was clear by the look in her very enamoured eyes. When they met, he lifted her off her feet and spun her around, then their lips met in a hungry kiss. Then again the two of them, but younger. Still students. Sitting in a room full of people just as young as they were. Molly recognized the young Margo. Everybody was happy, laughing. Then again the woman alone, again older: she was standing in front of something that looked like a building, a real wolf rubbing against her legs. She ran her fingers through his fur and cried something, her face lit by the same brilliant smile that Molly had seen so often on Bliss' face. Then she again, bent over a cradle and shushing him to keep quiet. He running to her, and she rushing to him, holding two toddlers in her arms. He was obviously returning from somewhere. They met, he hugged her, grabbed the children and spun them around in joy. He offering her a hand to step out of a carriage and in the last moment changing his intention and standing close to her with his back to her. She threw herself onto him and he started carrying her somewhere off. A hall full of ecstatic public cheering and clapping while the very young Michel was crowned champion – maybe his first time, the first of so many. Alain Montresorre, giving two children chocolate while looking nervously around for his sister. The same children with their mother, dancing on some stone steps. Molly could not help but notice how lovely the little boy looked – and how healthy and vital. He had no deformities. No hint of health problems. A child like every other, maybe even more agile than most. The woman, whispering something to Margo, their heads close. Dominic Montresorre and his grandchildren building a snow castle. A beautiful ballerina in a swift pirouette. The twins and John Lupin engrossed in a game. The boy and his father playing the piano. The woman and the man walking hand in hand through some forest. Vivienne Montresorre with Alain and Christine. He and she again, laughing at some private joke. Then she at the seashore, holding the children's hands. He was walking next to them. The twins started wriggling and their mother let them run free. He took her hand, looked into her eyes and didn't look aside.

The mist pictures went on. A voice sang lyrics that were strangely fitting – or maybe not so strangely.

_Oh a photograph of just one moment._

_Just a photograph, looking at me._

_Just a reminder of our sunrise,_

_To memorize the magic of you._

Molly looked around. Bliss's eyes were glued to the images. Margo had covered her eyes as if she could not bear to look at them. Michel's face was set in a hard expression.

How many times had she seen this memory holder in Helen's living room? Hundreds. It had never occurred to her that it was more than a fancy adornment. Someone had placed their heart, devoted many hours to create this depository. Clever and artistic. Molly was not artistic and neither were Helen and Paul. No wonder that they had never thought to try a simple _Alohomora_ spell.

It was awful. Not the images themselves – they were beautiful. But the thought of all the things the people in them had had. The things that Bliss should have had. It was a real irony that Helen, who had wanted so desperately to erase her daughter's past, had kept without knowing the past under the same roof. For a first time, Molly felt really guilty for her own part in this, her silence. Helen had taken a child who should have lived with these people and lead their life of music and dance and that was not right. No matter how much she loved that girl, it just wasn't right. Bliss belonged with her grandparents or whoever they decided to place her with.

Yet, maybe she would be glad to have something small that she had dropped in the Burrow the day before her removal a year ago. Molly hesitated, but while she was seeing them off, she discreetly put in Bliss' hand the small bracelet of multicolored threads that Bliss had worn since she was five. She believed that it 'protected' her.

Barbara looked at the small object. And hesitated. She had so many good memories associated with this bracelet. It had been on the top of the list with the things that she had wanted from her other house – her favorite dolls, her posters and so on. But her new relatives had never given them to had complained about it a couple of times, but their point was that now she had other things, another family. She had believed that this bracelet connected her with her mum but it didn't really. The castle was her real link to her parents.

She smiled and shook her head. "Give it to Ginny. I hope it will protect her. I live in France, I've got another family now, they are going to take care of me."

Margo and Michel were already out. Barbara smiled at Mrs Weasley and hurried after them. When she caught up, she turned back, puffed her cheeks and blew her a kiss. Then she disappeared, leaving as a last memory this expression of a clown.


End file.
